


side by side by side

by escherzo



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 2018 Offseason, F/M, M/M, Polyamory, Washington Capitals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-06-05 15:20:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15173567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/escherzo/pseuds/escherzo
Summary: “When I say family--” John hesitates for a moment. “I mean you too. You know that, right?”He meets Andre's eyes and Andre swallows hard. “Yes,” he says, finally, “I know. I just--” He's the one to hesitate, this time. “I don't know what kind of. What family I am to you.” It doesn't sound right, coming out of his mouth, the English not quite what he wants.





	side by side by side

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I know. I haven't written anything in months and here I come back with a Caps fic. I'm still ride or die for the Jackets, folks, this is a birthday fic for S. It's just been a wild time. I posted my last fic in March. Got a job 500 miles away from home at the beginning of April so moved and started that, and have been working ~60+ hour weeks ever since. Doesn't give one a lot of time to think about things that aren't work or time to write in general. I have another thing in the works that is Jackets fic currently. Just gotta find the spare time for that.
> 
> I have no idea whether or not Andre or DSP are actually stateside right now but for fic purposes they are. Shit's magic like that.

“Stop thirsting so loud,” Devante says, and Andre looks up from his phone. He's rolling his eyes. 

“It's just Carly,” Andre says, showing Devante the picture. It's from the charity event John was at earlier: he's holding the Cup, surrounded by a sea of fans in red and white. He's also in the grey polo shirt Andre's always thought suited him, arm muscles on display.

“I saw your face.”

“My face?” Andre tries to be the picture of innocence, but he knows he's smiling and can't quite seem to make it stop. “I don't know what you mean.” 

“Uh huh. Go get your boy.” Devante gestures towards the door with the hand he's holding his beer in, and it sloshes precipitously. They're not celebrating today, like the Americans are, but it seemed like a day to drink and laze around shirtless in the apartment with the A/C on full blast. Andre turned it down five degrees extra so they could cuddle. 

It'd be nice to be back stateside to see everyone for a few weeks—for six parties, two weddings, and a baby shower—if it wasn't so unbearably hot outside. Andre wants to go see John. He just might melt into a puddle en-route, is the thing. But nevermind all that. First things first. 

“He's not 'my boy', Devo.”

“No,” Devante agrees peaceably enough, “but hey. Dream big. Go.” He lets his fingers rest over Andre's Cup tattoo and presses a kiss to the underside of his jaw. “I'll be here.” 

“Fine,” Andre says, wiggling out from the tangle of limbs they're in. “Save me some beer.” 

“You won't need any beer after you're done drinking his--” Andre, for the sake of his own sanity, covers Devante's mouth with his hand before he can finish.

Can't even get loyalty from your favorite fuckbuddy nowadays. This world. 

*

Andre's been hung up on John forever, is the thing. Even if he ignored the obvious—older, married, two kids—it never seemed like the right time. There was team chemistry to worry about. The unending Cup-chase. Whether or not John would stay when his contract was up.

But they've won, now, and John's locked in for the long haul. And that just leaves the baseline issues, which. They still matter, and Andre's got no intentions to be a homewrecker, but he hasn't missed Gina's jokes about him being the poolboy or the hot babysitter, or the way she sometimes looks at the two of them, and so it feels... possible, in a way it hadn't in the past, that there might be a space there for him too. He's already part of the family. He's known that for a long time. 

What he needs to do right now, though, is focus, or his Uber driver's going to drop him off at the wrong house in Kenwood. 

“This one?” the guy asks, and Andre shakes himself back into awareness. 

“Next one down.” John's neighbors have some fancy-script numbers on their mailbox which are essentially impossible to read, and Andre is forever having to direct people past them. 

He takes a deep breath as he gets out, steadying himself. The neighborhood's beautiful this time of evening, sun starting to dip below the horizon, painting the houses red and gold. It's past cherry blossom season, but the smell of flowers in the air lingers somehow. John's house is huge and beautiful, and the long walk up the driveway gives Andre more than enough time to get nervous, which—it's stupid. He's over here all the time. Lucca is going to come running to try and take him down via hugging his knees as soon as he gets in the door, probably. 

Gina's the one who answers when he knocks. 

“Good to see you,” she says, pulling him into a hug before stepping back to let him inside, and even that brief embrace reminds him that no matter what he feels, he's not going to do anything to hurt this family. Not ever. He loves her too. 

“Thank you for having me,” Andre says, even if the excessive politeness usually gets a fond smile and an eyeroll from her and this time is no exception. 

He hears a tiny yell of delight and his name, and that's the only warning he gets before he has to grab onto the doorframe to avoid being concussed by a toddler. Lucca is as delighted to see him as always, bright-eyed and grinning, and he grins and tries to crouch down as best as he can with him having a death-grip on his knees to wrap his arms around him. “Hey, liten,” he says. 

“Big,” he corrects. 

“Mm,” he says, playing along. “Very.” 

John walks into the room as he's occupied trying to get him to repeat the Swedish for 'big', Rudy propped on his hip, and Andre loses his breath for a moment. He's just—he's got that dad energy to him, and it's overwhelming. 

“Luc, let him stand up,” John says, voice full of fondness. “He's about to tip.” 

He pouts but relents. Andre gets up and smiles at John, moving a step closer, in case he wants to hand off Rudy for a moment. “Good summer?” he asks.

“So far.” John looks a little embarrassed about the attention when he says, “You saw the pictures, I guess.” 

“Yes,” Andre says. “You looked good. Uh. It was. A good thing to do.” He's fumbling, and he knows his face is a little red. He can feel it. Gina snorts inelegantly behind them. 

“I'm going to take the kids for a walk before the sun goes down,” she says, reaching out for Rudy herself. “You two should talk.” 

*

They go out onto the back porch, the wood lit up with the last bits of summer sunset, everything tinged gold, and Andre can hardly look at John, the way the sun is lighting up his hair, the fond smile he's wearing. He's lost the tired look of the postseason, all tan skin and bright eyes and his face starting to fill out again. 

“So I'm staying,” he says into the silence, turning away from Andre to look off into the distance. “Eight years.”

“I was worried,” Andre admits. 

“We thought about it. Leaving, that is.” His voice is quiet. “I grew up in Jersey, you know. Thought about what it would be like to go home.”

“Why didn't you?” 

John smiles, a little. “I think what we ended up deciding was that no matter where we're from this is home, now. Sometimes home isn't where you started. Home is where your family is.”

“I'm glad,” Andre says. “I wouldn't have—I don't know what I--” He can't quite find the words.

“When I say family--” John hesitates for a moment. “I mean you too. You know that, right?”

He meets Andre's eyes and Andre swallows hard. “Yes,” he says, finally, “I know. I just--” He's the one to hesitate, this time. “I don't know what kind of. What family I am to you.” It doesn't sound right, coming out of his mouth, the English not quite what he wants. 

John is silent for a long moment. “You're already a big brother to Lucca,” he starts, and Andre's heart doesn't have the time to sink before he adds, “but. If you want it to be--”

“Yes?”

“Look.” John runs a hand through his hair, sighing. “I don't know whether you think of me in a way that's—not just being the favorite uncle. Or if you think of Gina in that way either. It's okay if it's just her. I want her to be happy, and I know how to share. But it could be both of us. If you want.” 

“Both,” Andre blurts, unable to keep it in. “Really, really both. It was you first? But both.” 

“Oh. _Oh._ ” John stares, a little, eyes wide. “I—oh.” 

And Andre doesn't know how to express all of this—that he feels too young for the responsibility of having A Family but wants to be theirs anyway, that he first started noticing John years ago but then he met Gina and found himself wanting everything in the world to make the two of them happy, that if he could just tuck into their bed the way he's wormed into loving them and taking care of their kids he would do it in a heartbeat, and all he can do is smile, the sort of smile that makes John have to smile back, fond and bashful and full of love. 

“Well. If we're being honest,” John says, the smile on his face growing with each passing moment, “I, uh.” He looks so shy, and Andre is so curious. He's used to John being anxious, angry, full of emotions he's not quite sure how to let out, but never shy, not really. “Sometimes I'd think about you two together when I was alone.”  
Andre waggles his eyebrows, because it feels like the thing to do in the moment, and John laughs outright. 

“Yeah,” he says, putting a hand over his mouth. “Yeah, like that. Her riding you. You eating her out. If you--”

“I really, really want,” Andre confirms, squirming a little in his chair thinking about it. “But before that, uh.” He turns towards John, leaning in a little, and John's eyes go a touch darker. 

It's an awkward angle, here, craning across the chair to kiss John, but when they pull back John takes his hand and says, “Come upstairs,” and Andre follows, helpless not to. 

*

The bedroom is huge, which Andre knew, but—never in this context. The sheets are dark and the curtains are drawn, only a sliver of light illuminating John as he tugs Andre forwards onto the bed with him, and Andre just... wants. John slides his hands up under Andre's shirt, and he lifts his arms obediently and lets himself be stripped, tugging at John's shirt after, desperate for skin-to-skin contact, to know him like this too. John's huge. Bigger than him, the benefit of years more of bulking out. He could just pick Andre up and move him, if he wanted.

Andre hopes he wants to. 

“What do you want?” John asks, pulling back long enough to tug his pants and boxers off and throw them aside, and all Andre can do is stare, because, fuck. He knew John was big; he hadn't been tuning that out in the locker room, but he's bigger now, half-hard and growing, and Andre wants that inside him. He lets out an embarrassing, desperate whimper, and John takes pity, seeing where his eyes are. 

“Oh,” he says, half fond, half cocky. “It's like that, huh.” 

Andre nods, and John strips him down the rest of the way, Andre's bare skin against his, before pulling back a fraction to get lube out of his bedside drawers. “You want?” he asks, though it's barely a question. He knows. Andre's not exactly being subtle. 

“Yes,” he breathes out, trying not to sound as needy as he feels. John looks fucking huge, and he needs that inside him yesterday. “Please.” 

“So polite,” John teases, slicking up his fingers and pressing Andre down into the sheets with one hand, the force of it stealing his breath away before John starts pressing a finger in and he forgets to breathe entirely. Even his fingers are big. Fuck. He's tried so hard for so long to not think about this but it's exactly what he needs. Big, and long, and crooking inside him in just the right way, long enough to hit the sweet spot. He hardly ever does this with Devo, but he loves it. Maybe too much. 

“Good?” John asks, and Andre just whimpers, squirming, trying to hide his face so he doesn't give away just how much he needs it. “Yeah,” he continues. “Thought so.” 

“Just--” Andre wants to hide his face in the pillow so he's not so obvious, but he's on his back, pinned in place, John's fingers inside him and his other hand wrapped around his shoulder, and he can't move. Can't do anything but take it. 

“You want to ride me?” John asks, casual, and Andre nearly comes right there, untouched, three fingers in him. He nods instead, trying to hold onto the threads of control, watching as John settles himself onto the bed on his back, hand held around his cock like he's offering a gift, and god, he is, Andre is doing the best he can to not just drool outright at the size of it. 

He lowers himself down slow, trying to not be greedy, watching as John's breath comes short and his eyes slip shut from the sensations, and he's struggling to keep his own eyes open, filled to the brim. God, he loves this. It's so much. It's too much, but in a good way. Stealing all his thoughts from him, everything centered onto taking John in the rest of the way, so full he could choke on it. 

“That's it, baby,” John murmurs, and Andre's face burns. His hands are on Andre's hips but he's not moving him, not yet, letting him get adjusted. 

He wants to draw it out, make it last, but it's too good, too overwhelming, and as soon as he's got his breath back all he can do is chase the feeling harder, deeper, fucking down onto John as hard and fast as he can, knowing he's practically squealing but unable to stop himself, lit up with pleasure all over. Fuck, he needs more, and John knows it, and the next time he screws down John grips his hips and yanks him flush, deep, and he turns his head to bite at his bicep to muffle the noise he lets out at that. 

“I want to hear you,” John says, still somehow sounding so composed, even though Andre knows he's close and his face is red. 

Andre goes redder at that but obeys, and the next time John yanks him down he gives into it, lets himself make noise without trying to muffle the cries, so good it makes his teeth ache. He's nearly crying, and it's not going to take much. Not going to take a hand on him, and when John reaches out he bats his hand away. He just needs a little more. A little deeper. John holds him tight enough to bruise and tugs down and he comes just like that, eyes screwed shut, covering John from chest to chin, unable to hold it in any longer, and while he's still in the throes of it, John comes too, hot and wet inside him. He can feel it. He's just come and knowing John left him dripping is making his body work towards getting hard again, not even a minute later, just imagining what that must look like. 

“You two sharing?” Gina asks from the doorway, a hand unsubtly down the front of her pants, and Andre shudders, squirming on John's dick as he softens, and his voice must sound so fucked up by now but he manages a, “Yeah.” 

John grins, looking between the two of them before gesturing her closer.


End file.
